I'm pretty good at talking. I like to talk, and in fact, I get a scholarship for competitive talking. And yes, that is 100 percent as nerdy as it sounds. I've spewed hundreds of euphemisms for boobs and thrown a stunt bra during competition, screamed about the social construct of virginity, and cried as I told my audiences about my dad's heart transplant -- all without problems. But I've found that there's one thing I have a hard time talking about: my recent anxiety diagnosis.
I had suspected for a while that I probably had some form of either anxiety or depression, but since I am not a professional, I sought out a professional opinion. The school counselor told me after our first session that I likely had some form of anxiety, partially due to the stress of my dad's transplant, but we never acted upon it. Eventually, I stopped going because I ran out of things to talk about and felt like I was wasting her time. I saw my general physician about it over Christmas break, but nothing was done. Finally, over the summer I went to my doctor again after I had (anxiously) scratched all the skin off of my legs and he prescribed me an anxiety medication that I can take whenever I feel like I need it. Even just the knowledge that I had a diagnosis made me feel better, but I still didn't feel like I could talk about it.
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The thing is, I've seen my friends in the midst of anxiety attacks. I've held hands and talked to people as they were screaming through tears. My anxiety doesn't look like that, and I don't know how to talk about it. I can't help but think that my anxiety will be invalidated because of the people looking at me thinking that I don't know how lucky I am. I do know that I am lucky that my anxiety isn't more severe, but I wish I had a way to talk about the fact that my doctor gave me medicine that I can take whenever I feel like I need it, but I don't know how to tell when I need it. I wish I could talk openly about how I worry about everything all the time. No, I haven't had an anxiety attack like others who suffer from anxiety, but sometimes my heart beats so hard it threatens to jump out of my rib cage. I want to talk about how my tiny pet peeves like chewing noises and nails tapping on tables sometimes get so intense that I can literally feel my blood pressure rising and my anger mounting against people who have no control over the situation. I just want to be able to talk about it and not feel judged about the severity of my mental health. But then again, isn't that just my anxiety talking?
There's this poem I've heard about anxiety that said that anxiety attacks are akin to hurricane alarms. Well, mine feels more like a defective tea kettle. It gets left on the heat until the water inside is bubbling and boiling so rapidly that it rattles against the stove, but it never builds up enough pressure to whistle. Even if it did, it couldn't be heard over the sound of the hurricane alarm.
I'm still learning about my anxiety diagnosis. I'm still learning what triggers my emotions. I'm still learning about when I need to take my medicine. I'm still learning about how to talk to people about what goes on in my mind. And I'm still learning that everyone's experiences with anxiety and mental health are all different, and all valid.
